The Council of the Broken
by TheInfectionWithin
Summary: A dark shadow is eclipsing the universe, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. The Beast. Its commanding forces have lost all control now, and it wreaks havoc wherever it steps. At a loss on how to win, the Council search desperately for a saviour, and somehow happen upon eight...
1. Run!

Sam hesitated, shovel poised ready to break the undisturbed earth beneath him. "Dean," he cautioned, eyes fixed on something behind his brother's back, "What is that?"  
Dean's gaze followed Sam's to the silhouette running towards them. "You think it's her?" He asked, violently cocking his gun.  
"No... I think it's a man."  
"Well... Do I shoot him?" Dean asked in an annoyed tone, his shotgun poised, following the stranger.  
Sam pulled a small mirror from his pocket, and angled it toward the stranger, frowning. "He's got a reflection." Sam stated. "Looks human. We can't shoot him."  
"Then what do we do, Sammy?" Dean's voice was growing increasingly agitated. "He's coming right for us, and we're digging up a stiff, in the middle of the night. None of this looks good."  
"Dean. Shut up." The figure was only a few strides away, and at the pace he was going, he would be upon the brothers in a matter of seconds.  
"Sammy, he's coming right for us." Dean repeated through gritted teeth, his brow furrowed with frustrated confusion, how the hell were they going to explain themselves? The brothers watched silently, unsure how to react to the situation. In the moonlight, the man's features were only just discernible. Average height, average build, average everything, except for his prominent chin. His slightly too-long hair, rippled in the wind as he rocketed towards the pair. The man zipped past the brothers before they got a closer look. "Run!" The stranger's acknowledgement of the brothers carried back to them on the wind.  
Sam and Dean exchanged a perplexed glance. "Run?" Sam mouthed.  
Dean shrugged, glancing over his shoulder at the retreating figure. Dean recognised the way he ran. The same way a person runs from Hell Hounds. With pure, maybe unadulterated terror. Then, inexplicably, the man faltered, turned, and ran back towards them. He stopped just shy of where the brothers stood. "What are you doing?" He was practically yelling with incredulity, accentuating his accent, which was unmistakably English. "Run!" The strange man reiterated.  
"Uh..." Sam hesitated. "Why?"  
"What do you mean 'Why?'?" The man's voice was rising in pitch. Then, from behind the Winchesters, came a low, drawn out roar. The air dropped ten degrees. The night was plunged into a chill so cool that the breath of the trio was visible. Instinct had the Winchesters on edge, expecting a ghost to appear, but something about the stranger told them that there wasn't one. "What was that?" Dean whispered.  
"I don't know," The stranger said, grin on his face. "Hah! Love it when I don't know."  
"Sorry," Sam interjected, looking the man up and down. "But who the hell are you?" He wanted to ask what the hell the man was, too, because no sane person Sam had ever encountered dressed like that. Trousers, about an inch to short, beige shirt, tweed jacket and a deep red bow tie. Everything about him screamed mismatched.  
"Me? I- I'm nobody important right now, but that," The man pointed behind them, "That probably is, sorry, but, er, ah, um, yes, run!"  
Another ominous growl. The man's eyes widened. He glanced between the pair before him, then turned and sprinted away, leaving the Winchesters in silence.  
"Sammy..." Dean said, "Run."  
"Yeah." They bolted after the stranger, struggling to catch up to him.  
"Hello!" He yelled, inexplicably cheerful, "This way, we'll be safe inside my, er, vehicle!"  
"That thing better not touch my baby!" Dean roared, pushing his legs hard, trying to keep pace with Sam and the Stranger. Sam's speed, he could explain, ridiculously long legs had to have their perks, but the stranger... The stranger moved at an inhuman pace, dodging gravestones, zipping towards his- their destination. The trio came to a, rather abrupt, stop outside a blue box. The stranger rooted through his pockets, making agitated noises.  
"Gah!" He huffed, "Pockets. They're always so much bigger on the inside, it's a wonder you can find anything in a hurry. Aha!" He pulled out a key and opened the box. "Alright, everybody in."  
"That?" Dean scoffed.  
"What wrong with her?" The stranger looked almost sad. "There is a... thing following us, and you want us to hide inside a little blue 'Police Box?"  
"Ohh, you Americans! Always so cynical. Except Canton! Now I liked Canton," he said disappearing into the box, "He just took it in stride, and then..." He faltered, and his head poked out of the box. "Well come on!"  
"I... Uh... I'm not entirely comfortable with the three of us being in... well... there..." Sam gestured towards the box. There was another earth-shattering roar, and Sam felt the ground tremble beneath his feet.  
"Fuck it, in, Sammy." Dean made an executive decision and unceremoniously shoved Sam towards the door of the box, raising his gun and backing in after him. Their backs pressed together in the confined space, Dean slammed the door shut and turned around to face the stranger.  
"What the..." Sam was frozen, staring into the box. It was massive, orange and silver and massive. The stranger was stood at some sort of console, pressing buttons and pulling levers, and generally running about like a madman.  
"Ah," he said, turning to the brothers, clapping his hands in excitement. "Yes, bigger on the inside, I always forget bigger on the inside, where is Rory when you need him? Oh." He looked at the two guns now facing him. "Right."  
"What the hell is this place?" spat Dean. 


	2. Monsters and Aliens don't exist

"More wine, Doctor?" Amy's warm voice carried across the table, she peered over the vase of flowers in the middle of the table at her friend, her red hair shining like the candles that lit it.  
"Amy, how many times, call me John," the war-veteran smiled and graciously accepted another glass.  
"Sorry," she apologized, smiling sheepishly, "force of habit."  
"We used to have a friend," chipped in her husband, wine glass held lazily in front of him, "who we called 'Doctor'."  
"Arrogant," muttered the tall man, with the dark hair and high cheekbones, his piercing eyes rolling in annoyance.  
"Sherlock," John chastised.  
"What?" He challenged, "It is arrogant. Why would anyone ask to be called by their job title? Why would anyone call anyone by their job title?" His tone on the verge of annoyance, as he moved his wine glass to his lips, taking a drink.  
"Sherlock, just stop. Not here." The man with the dark face looked sullen.  
"Uh, so..." began Amy trying to diffuse the situation, "Sherlock, I've read about your work. It's very impressive." She paused to have a drink, "Have you ever had a case to do with aliens?"  
"Aliens aren't real," Sherlock muttered in a moody monotone, "Despite what you read in those trashy one pound excuses of newspapers, there is no substantial evidence to support the existence of extra-terrestrial life."  
Amy glanced at her husband, who was grinning at his plate. "You don't even think it's possible? Great big universe and you think we're alone."  
"Yes." Sherlock replied in a clipped tone, that left no room for doubt.  
"Ok... what about what we've seen, here on Earth? Spaceships in the sky? Crashing into Big Ben?"  
"Hoax and ruse. Even the government gets bored now and then, and money is far less rare than you're led to believe." He eminated boredom, looking intently at the liquid in his wine glass, barely even glancing up to acknowledge the existence of those at the table with him.  
"But," Amy was interrupted by a knock on the door, "Rory?"  
Her husband sighed and stood up, leaving the dining room for the door.  
"Doctor." Rory had learned not to be surprised. Although he wasn't beyond exasperation. "We're in the middle of a din-"  
"They shot my TARDIS!" The Doctor snapped, his tone scandalized as he crossed the threshold.  
"What, again? Who? Doctor, you can't go in there, we're having a meal," Rory called after The Doctor, though he knew it was useless.  
"Oh good, is there enough for me? I'm famished, haven't eaten since yesterday." He paused and began counting on his fingers with a quizzical experession on his face, "Whenever yesterday was..."  
"Doctor?"  
"Oh great!" Rory exclaimed, throwing up his hands, as Amy poked her head through the door.  
"Yes, hello Pond," the Doctor smiled as he only did for Amy, "my TARDIS has been shot, so I had to make an emergency stop."  
"What, again?" She was as remarkably un-phased as her husband. "And who's 'they'?"  
"Oh, yes!" He turned on his heel, walking straight past Rory, whose hands went up in exasperation, "Ponds, this is Dean and Sam Winchester." He gestured to the two men standing a little way from the entrance to the house. "Word to the wise," he lowered his voice, with an amused grin and a disbelieving tone, "they think they're demon-hunters."  
"Doctor, you can't just be here, we've got friends over, they'll ask questions."  
"Yes, Rory, absolutely right, apart from the fact that I have been a human before, I can do it again, come on now Ponds, lets meet your friends."

* * *

"Dean, do we follow him?" Sam muttered, watching the thin man with the bow-tie walk into a house.  
"I don't know, Sammy. I told you that burger tasted funny. I think it's coming back to haunt me. I mean, dude, spaceships? Spaceships that are bigger on the inside?"  
"We've seen weirder." Sam reminded him.  
"Have we?" Dean wasn't so sure. Demons and ghosts, sure, fine. But spaceships? Aliens? "We're in Britain, man. Britain." Dean shudders at the level of weird in this situation. "I can't even get cell service to call Bobby. My baby is stuck outside of some stinkin' graveyard in Michigan. So, just what have we seen that is weirder than this?"  
Sam opened his mouth, then shut it. He drew in a deep breath, "Maybe we should just go inside and try to get some answers to all of this."  
"Ponds," came the bow-tie man's voice, "this is Dean and Sam Winchester." The brothers looked up. The man whispered something to his friends, who replied in turn and retreated back inside. Dean reaffirmed his grip on his gun and made his way inside the house.

* * *

"Oh, hello." The girl with red hair looked slightly surprised. "I didn't think you were going to come in. Which one are you, Sam or Dean?"  
Dean smiled, dialing up his charm to the highest setting "Dean. Winchester. Hunter."  
The red head smiled back, "Amy. Pond. Ex-Model, amongst other things."  
"Rory. Husband." A man with, in Dean's opinion, an oversized nose appeared behind Amy with an expression that could only be understood as Back off. "Are you the one who shot the TARDIS?"  
"The what?" Dean's face scrunched in confusion.  
"The blue box," offered Amy.  
"Oh, yeah, that was me. Sorry about that."  
"It's fine, our daughter did the same thing."  
"Daughter?" Dean was exceedingly confused.  
"Yeah," Amy continued, "She's the Doctor's wife,"  
"She's married?" Sam asked incredulously. "Sorry, but how old is she?"  
"It's... complicated." Rory sighed. "You two might as well join us for dinner too, and can you please get rid of the gun? The Doctor hates them."  
The brothers made their way into the dining room. It was big, bigger than either Winchester was expecting, given the size of the front of the house. The walls were painted rich burgundy and creamy white, and all the furnishings were dark wood. Sat at the large table in the centre were two men. One was short, hair so blonde it was almost grey. He wore a kind, if somewhat confused, expression on his face. The other man... he looked so out of place in the warm room, still wearing a thick coat and despite clearly being halfway through his meal, a dark blue scarf was still wrapped around his neck. He glanced up, his high cheekbones and cold, calculating eyes gave him a sharp fox-like appearance.

"Doctor," Amy began, two faces turned towards her. "Oh... um, sorry. John, Sherlock; this is the Doctor-"  
"Doctor what?" The fox-man asked, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth as he studied the Doctor from his chair, "and Doctor of what? Clearly not of medicine, I mean look at your clothes and your shoes... you've been running. Fast. Look at them they're covered with mud, but there's been a drought here, the rivers are dry. You're out of breath; could be the exertion but it's more likely fear, probably because of the guns your... companions are hiding under their jackets."  
There was silence in the room broken only by Rory appearing, plates in one arm and cutlery in the other. "Right, it might be a bit of a squeeze, but we can-" he faltered. "Oh God, what've I missed?"  
"Nothing," John stood up, clearing his throat, "Sherlock being Sherlock... do you need a hand, Rory? Spare chairs through here?" He acknowledged Rory's nod, and left.  
"Listen, uh, Amy, Doctor," Sam began, "We're really can't stick around, we need to get back,"  
"Of course!" The Doctor said, "Yes, yes, I'll take you back, but after we've eaten." The odd man settled himself down in a chair next to Amy, and smiled over-enthusiastically at each person sitting around the table. Dean nudged Sam, and nodded in the direction of the door, the two stepped out, into the narrow hall.

* * *

"Well? What do we do, Dean?"  
"I don't know Sammy, I don't think we've got much choice, we just gotta sit tight and then get that freak to get us home."  
"Speaking of..." Sam hesitated, glancing up at what was visible of the Doctor, "Is he human? I mean... are we meant to waste him?"  
"Maybe. After we get home, I mean, I'm pretty worried about that constipated psychic guy in there. What if we've walked into some kind of nest?" The door opened.  
"Are you two gonna stand out here all night?" Amy popped up beside the brothers. "Come on, I've made Jambalaya and if you're not quick the Doctor and Rory will eat it all."  
"Listen Amy-" Sam began.  
"And Rory made apple pie for dessert,"  
"Pie?" Dean cut in.  
"Yeah." Amy looked confused, "that okay?"  
"Amy, we can't stay here. We really need to get back, we don't even know where we are, or what we're doing here, or-"  
"Sam, right?" She asked, "Don't worry about it. The Doctor'll take you back to where you were, more or less, promise." She smiled. Sam blinked several times, there was something about her smile that was very non-monster. Something about her that said she knew exactly what the Winchesters were going through. "Come on," she held the door open for them.

* * *

"So, Doctor, how've you been?" Rory asked, acutely aware of the tense atmosphere between the time travellers and the detectives. These were Amy's friends, not his and she'd disappeared off to god knows where.  
"Not bad, Rory, not bad, did mean to stop in a few times, always get distracted though, one thing or another, you know how it is." The Time Lord paused, scooping up a spoonful of food and stuffing it in his mouth. "Still," He continued through a mouth full of rice and chicken, "back now, so when I've dropped those two off," he waved his spoon at the door, "we can get the old Peruvian folk band back together."  
"What about the Peruvian folk band?" Amy asked, coming in through the door and sitting down next to Rory. The Winchesters followed in behind her, shuffling their feet awkwardly before sitting down. Both the Doctor and Sherlock were acutely aware of the fact that Dean kept one hand inside his jacket.  
"Dean," The Doctor began, "I know you don't trust me, and that this is perfectly fine. I understand, but can you please take your hand off the gun?"  
"Why should I?" the Hunter spat reflexively.  
"Because I won't hurt you."  
"Maybe not, but that didn't stop you zapping us halfway around the freakin' world."  
"Oh, shut up!" Amy cut in, reaching over, taking Dean's plate and proceeding to fill it, "most people get excited by a time machine, but not you Americans."  
"Time machine?!"  
"I'm sorry," all eyes in the room moved to Sherlock, who wore an expression of annoyed confusion, "is this meal some kind of joke? Time travel? Teleportation?" He glanced at his friend, "really John, I thought you'd let that thing with the solar system go."  
"I didn't arrange this, Sherlock, I have no idea what's going on," Watson looked at Amy, pleading for some sort of explanation.  
"Rory," she began, "why don't you expl-" Before she'd finished her sentence, the table was in uproar. Everyone talking over each other, nobody understanding the strange turn of events the night had taken.  
"We're time travellers-"  
"He's a monster Sam. A monster."  
"But that's not logical!"  
A shrill, piercing noise tore through the arguments, and silence fell. The Doctor, smiled, pocketing a small bronze tube. "Right." He said, clapping his hands and grinning. "Who'd like to see my spaceship?"

* * *

"But that's not possible." John stumbled back out of the TARDIS, followed by Sherlock. The pair wandered around the box, John running his hands on the surface wonderingly, tapping on it, not quite able to comprehend the sheer audacity of the situation.  
"Oh, but it is, John! How often have I said to you that when you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth? This... this is marvellous!"

The Winchester brothers, however, were less excited, now that they finally understood how they're arrived in England.

"So... you're an alien?" Sam asked, joining the Doctor at the console. "A real alien?"

"Yes," the Doctor's voice was quiet. "I'm a Time Lord, the last Time Lords. I come from a planet, Gallifrey, in the constellation Kasterborous... Not that the means anything to you." He stood up straight, turning around, leaning his back against the console and staring out the door. "I am sorry, Sam. I was trying to get you to safety. Threw you in at the deep end, eh?" He smiled.  
"Yeah, a bit," Sam agreed, "can you get us back?"  
"Of course. I need to go back there anyway. Something about that graveyard wasn't... right."

* * *

"John, Sherlock," Rory appeared from within the Blue Box, "we're going to... um... well, we're going to America. The Doctor says you're welcome to join us, and... I'm sorry about how this evening's turned out. Life with the Doctor. It's never straight-forward."  
"It's fine, Rory, really, I haven't had an adventure like this for a while," John smiled, stepping inside the box after Sherlock, who had beelined straight for the centre of the vast room. "Don't think I've ever seen him so lively," he mused, watching his friend. "How-" Rory smiled, patting John on the arm.  
"It's better if you don't ask."  
"Rory!" The Doctor yelled from the console, "where's Amelia?"  
"She's locking up the house, watering the plants, that sort of thing."  
"Plants?" the Time Lord crossed over, "Why?"  
"Because Doctor, last time you took us in the TARDIS we were gone for a month. Plants die if you don't water them for a month." The doors behind them shut, and they both turned.  
"All in?" Amy grinned. "House is locked, plants are watered, and..." she held up a lunch box, "I am not letting this pie go to waste."  
"Er, Doctor?"  
"Yes John?"  
"How long will it take, you know, to get to America?"  
"Not too long, half an hour tops. Maybe forty-five minutes. Or fifty. I've never actually timed it, there's something to do, Amy, time the TARDIS!"  
"Yes boss," she mock saluted and walked over to the console, fiddling with what appeared to be a television screen. John watched, fascinated as a large stopwatch appeared on screen, ticking away.  
"Fantastic- Winchesters!" Dean, Sam and Dean's gun turned to face the Time Lord, "Oh, er, Dean... We've talked about this."  
"So?" Dean challenged through a mouth full of pie.  
"Right. Um." He nervously rocked back and forth on his feet, "I need to know when and where we were... please. Don't want to be running into ourselves, things could get sticky."  
Sam answered the Doctor's request, if somewhat warily. "The, uh, Holy Cross Cemetery, in Detroit. It was about midnight, I guess."  
"Thank you, Sam." With a few swift button-presses and lever-pulls the TARDIS roared to life. "I've set the TARDIS to land at one in the morning, should give us plenty of time to avoid, uh, issues."  
"Doctor?" Rory, joined his side, murmuring quietly. "Are you not slightly concerned that two men with guns are taking us to a cemetery?"  
"Oh, yes, good point Rory." Another clap of the hands, as he re-faced the brothers, "I meant to ask, what were you doing in a graveyard at that time of night?"  
"Hunting."  
Watson laughed at Dean's response, inviting all eyes in the TARDIS to turn to him. "Oh, come on, like there's much game in a graveyard." He retorted to the keen,  
somewhat accusatory gazes, Sherlock smiled, approvingly.  
"We were hunting a Wraith." Sam explained.  
"A what?" Amy's question spoke for every other blank face in the room.  
"A Wraith, Amy, according to Scottish Romanticist literature, is a ghost or spectre. And completely fictional." Sherlock provided lazily.  
"Yeah, well listen Cheekbones, they're real, and right now, there's one running around Michigan drinking brain juice." Dean snapped.  
"What do you mean drinking brain juice?" John quickly cut in before Sherlock retaliated. "Like, cerebral fluid?"  
"More like hormones, or endorphins. Wraiths, they poison their victims, make them go stir-crazy and then feed off of the excess chemicals in their brain." Sam explained.  
"But how does that work? They can't be real, it's... nonsensical."  
"About as nonsensical as a time machine."  
The TARDIS was silent. "So... monsters are real?" John asked. "As in monster-monsters, not human monsters?"  
"Yes."  
"How do you stop them?"  
"It's different depending on what we're hunting. For a Wraith, silver will kill it. So we use silver bullets."  
"There are other things? And you hunt them?"  
"Yep."  
"Right." Watson hesitated, "Well the world just got a lot scarier."  
"Sorry." To his credit, Sam genuinely did look apologetic.  
"We, uh, we're here." Amy murmured. Nobody had noticed the TARDIS falling silent, as though it, too, was wrapped up in Sam's explanation of the new-found horrors  
of the Earth.

* * *

"So, what're we looking for?" Amy caught up to Dean, who was leading the rag-tag group towards a car, just outside of the graveyard.  
"Wraiths can disguise themselves as humans, you need a mirror to see them, or any kind of reflection. They more or less look like a decaying human."  
"And then we shoot?"  
"Pretty much." They arrived at the car. "You know how to use a gun?" Amy's eyes widened as Dean lifted up a panel in his car, revealing an arsenal of weaponry, guns, stakes, ammo. It was all Amelia could do not inform Dean that she's seen tanks that were less well equipped.  
"Yeah, it's easy. Point and shoot." Dean frowned slightly, but handed Amy one anyway. A small gun, mind. Better safe than sorry.  
"Oh, but this is beautiful!" Rory exclaimed, joining Dean and Amy. "1967 Chevy Impala, right? Oh, wow." Dean decided to go ahead and like Rory.  
"Can anyone else shoot?" Dean asked, as the group finally halted by the car. Sherlock, and John both nodded, and were handed guns. "We've only got a limited supply of bullets, so don't shoot unless you're sure. Okay?" More nods. "Right, uh, good luck." Everyone dispersed, leaving Sam and Dean stood next to each other.  
"Should we be doing this, Dean?"  
"Probably not. But we might as well take advantage of them while they're here. Gank this thing and then move on."  
"It's weird... It's like... They're not even phased. Who are they all?"  
"I don't know. But they seem to know monsters, and frankly, after two weeks of hunting this thing, I don't mind letting them hunt it for a change."  
Sam frowned. "Dean, what's going on with you? First Chicago, and now this. We don't let civilians hunt, that's like our number one rule."  
"Yeah, well maybe the rules should start changing."  
"Dean. Is this because of Castiel?"  
The older Winchester fell silent, with a face like thunder. He stood up, cocked his gun, and entered the cemetery without giving his brother any acknowledgement.


	3. Quid Pro Quo, Castiel

"So, what are we looking for?" The taller of the two Ponds asked.  
"Decaying flesh."  
"I'm sorry, what? And why are you walking so fast?" Rory struggled to keep stride with Amy.  
"Because, Rory, that's Amelia's down-to-business walk," The Doctor appeared from behind a gravestone.  
"My what?"  
"Your down-to-business walk, you always walk like that when you're getting a job done, haven't you noticed? River does it too. Now, Pond, what are you doing with that?" He wrinkled his nose at the gun that Amy was holding a little too comfortably by her hip.  
"Hunting," she shrugged, nonchalantly.  
"Hunting what?" The note of incredulity in the Time Lord's voice was less than understated. "And, why?"  
"Dean said there's something out there, and we need to kill it."  
"And you trust him?"  
"Look, Doctor," Amy struggled to reason with her friend, not entirely sure how to explain why she seemed to trust the Hunter so implicitly. "Dean told me what this thing- this Wraith does, they kill people. As in, they kill people in cold blood. He said it's taken three people all ready, and it doesn't do it nicely."  
"And you believe him?"  
"Is it so extra-ordinary? All the things we've seen... Doctor, there's a lot of evil in the universe."  
"That doesn't mean you have to go shooting at things you don't understand!" Not Amy, not little Amelia. The Doctor refused to accept how blasé she was about murdering something. Despite all his faults, and there were many, the Doctor liked to believe that he gave every species, regardless of their past, a chance to right their wrongs, a chance to opt out. But not Amy, apparently.  
"Well then what do you suggest?" She retorted, cheeks flushed with... shame? Amy wasn't sure herself, annoyance, maybe, seeing as this was hardly how she'd expected the conversation to go.  
"We go back to the TARDIS. I'll do a scan for non-human life, then we can find it and give it a chance. We always give things a chance, do you understand me? Always."  
Amy nodded, swallowing hard. "Go and find your friends, before they shoot someone."  
"Winchesters or John and Sherlock?" She offered Rory once the Doctor had left.  
"John and Sherlock. I think they're less likely to shoot me."  
"Aw, you're not scared, are you Centurion?" Amy grinned.  
"Not scared. Just... not a fan of getting shot. Again." He kissed her on the cheek, immediately improving her mood, and then left in search of the Detective and his friend.

* * *

John frowned, a bemused smile on his face, as Sherlock ducked behind headstones, gun raised.  
"Well, you, uh, seem surprisingly at home with all this." He remarked, as Sherlock scratched at some moss on a particularly decrepit grave marker and sniffed it.  
"Of course, John, why wouldn't I be?"  
"Oh, you know, because we're looking for a mythical monster that we're meant to shoot with silver bullets."  
"Simplest explanation, John." Sherlock's voice was almost musical, if a tad subdued. He crouched behind a gravestone, no more than five feet away from John, a frown knitting his eyebrows together. "There's something nearby." He muttered, slowly standing and raising his gun.  
"There's somethin- What? Where?" The veteran tightened his grip on his gun, all the experience from his army days coming back to him in a flood of instinct.  
"John? Sherlock?"  
John lowered his weapon, and raised an eyebrow at the Detective. "It's Rory." He informed him.  
"Yes, John, I can see that." Sherlock retorted.  
"The Doctor wants us back at the TARDIS, he's going to scan for whatever it is we're looking for from there."  
"Tedious."  
"Sorry?" Rory was taken aback by Sherlock's reaction.  
John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, it's alien technology scanning for a legendary creature- exactly what about that is boring?"  
"Any one can scan for something, how often do we do things like this?"  
"Since living with you? Surprisingly frequently." John muttered to Rory, making him smile. "Come on, Sherlock, let's go."  
The three began to walk towards the TARDIS, Sherlock, somewhat reluctantly. Rory half-turned his head toward John, the beginnings of a conversation forming on his lips when-  
"Ow!"  
"Whoops, Rory, you alright?" John stooped to help the fallen man up.  
"Yeah, ow," The Centurion frowned and poked the thing he tripped over with his foot, "what is that?"

* * *

Headstones loomed out of the fog and darkness as Amy got closer to them; tall and crumbling and covered in rich green moss. The whole graveyard was bathed in the eerie white-ish light thrown off from the moon and there was an icy breeze that stirred the dense grass underfoot. Amy folded her arms around herself. God, it was cold. Still, she reasoned, at least this time she wasn't dressed for Rio, though Rio would be a damn sight better than this. "Amy?"  
"Oh!" She jumped, looking around at the source of the voice. "Sam! I was looking for you and Dean. The Doctor wants us back at the TARDIS."  
"What? Why?"  
"He says he can scan for non-human life and find the wraith. Saves trekking 'round here in the dark."  
"Uh,"  
"No." Sam and Amy whipped round to face Dean. "We are not getting back in that thing."  
"Why not?" Sam frowned at his brother, surely speeding this hunt up would be a good thing?  
"Sam, we shouldn't even be letting the alien go, let alone jump back into its spaceship and play happy families."  
"We won't be playing happy families! Dean, this could finally be over." There was a note of exhaustion in the younger brother's voice that made Amy think of the Doctor on the days when he thought that he'd lived too long.  
"We do it our way Sammy or we don't do it. Now, which would you prefer?" The air between the Winchesters was tense enough to be cut by a knife. Dean's objections seemed completely irrational to Sam, but there was a conviction in Dean's eyes that caused his argument to catch in his throat.  
Amy stepped in between the brothers, feeling more than a little uncomfortable, "Well, I hate to interrupt your lovely little domestic, but we've got incoming." She waved her phone at them, pressed a button and held it out in front of her. "Doctor, tell them what you just told me."  
"I did the scan," the Time Lord's voice came through the speaker, distorted by the background noise of the TARDIS, he sounded worried. "There's two things out there, one's near Rory, and the other's," the Doctor paused. "It's coming right for you. I don't know what it is, but it's moving in, fast."  
The Winchesters immediately cocked their guns, Sam shoved Amy in between him and Dean, his eyes darting around the dark cemetery, looking for some sign of the approaching monster. Was it just Amy or did the wind seem to pick up?  
"Hello, Dean."

* * *

"John, have you got a torch?"  
"Uh, yeah." Watson rested his gun on a nearby gravestone, and fished around in his pockets. "Here you go." He flipped a switch and handed the flash light to Rory, who shone it on the ground.  
"What is that?" He murmured. "A root?"  
"No..." Sherlock crouched next to him, taking the light from Rory and handing it to John. "Shine it a little to the left." There was an exasperated noise of protest from Holmes' colleague, but he complied. The detective grabbed a nearby twig and poked at the thing. It was pinkish, almost raw-looking, and when Sherlock pulled the twig away, long, sticky strands clung to it. "That... is flesh."  
"Eugh!" Rory's hand instantly withdrew. "I touched it!" He grimaced and wiped the grass. "Why's there an unburied body hidden in a graveyard?"  
"Looks like it's been there a while," John muttered. "We should probably call the police."  
"Yeah," Rory agreed, noticing, with a smile, Sherlock rolling his eyes, "let's get back to the TARDIS, we can phone in from there."

* * *

"Cas." Dean growled. "What are you doing here?"  
"I couldn't find you. I had to call Bobby." The man in the trench coat shuffled his feet awkwardly, looking up at Dean with a cautious expression.  
"Okay, well done, that doesn't explain why you're here."  
"Dean," Sam cautioned, aware of how close to exploding Dean was.  
"I need your help." Castiel looked ashamed, almost scared to ask.  
"You need our help? I'm sorry, Cas, but where the fuck were you when we needed your help? Oh yeah that's right, you were busy kil-"  
"Sorry, but who are you?" Amy deliberately cut in before Dean raised his gun and shot the poor man. "And am I the only one here who's slightly freaked by the fact that he appeared literally out of nowhere?"  
"He does that." Sam dismissed Amy's surprise with a half-assed explanation, there were more pressing matters at hand. "Amy, this is Castiel, he's... uh... an angel." The colour drained from Amy's face. There was only one thing she associated with the word Angel and it was a far cry from good.  
"Sorry?" She choked out. "Angel?"  
Dean didn't even look at her. "Yeah, Angel. As in, God's our Daddy, we live in heaven, we're a bunch of dicks who expect humans to do everything we ask without question." Castiel looked hurt, stung by Dean's vicious words.  
"Pond? Pond, are you still there?" The four of them started at the voice coming from Amy's phone.  
"Yeah." She replied, her voice wavering. "Yeah, I'm here."  
"You need to get back to the TARDIS, there's something fishy going on here, and it's not a good fishy, like the kind that goes with custard."  
"O-okay." Amy shut the phone, but couldn't bring herself to move.  
"Dean please," the Angel implored. "Whoever that was on the phone is right, something is very wrong here, but we don't know what."  
"It okay, Castiel," Sam answered for his brother. "We'll help. Let's just... Let's go to the TARDIS, see what the Doctor has to say about the Wraith first. Okay?"  
"Thank you Sam. Where is this Doctor?"  
"This way," Sam began to walk, his movement prompted Amy to follow close behind. There was a moment's hesitation between the elder Winchester, who paused, looking at Castiel with an expression of both anger and sadness. He averted his eyes from the man in the trench coat, and followed his brother to the impossible blue box.


	4. Cry, Little Soldier, Cry

"Right, now, Cas." Dean paused outside the TARDIS, turning to face the Angel. "Don't... Don't freak out." Castiel frowned, as Amy and Sam swiftly stepped into the blue box before him. "Just, trust me on this, we know what we're doing." The lie slipped easily from Dean's mouth.  
"Dean, I don't understand." He wasn't sure why, but something in Dean's voice made the Angel feel uneasy.  
"That man, who was on the phone, he, uh... well Cas, he's an alien." Dean still didn't like the feel of the word on his lips, and, frankly, it made him feel a bit more than just his normal level of crazy.  
"An alien? Do you mean like a foreigner?" Cas tilted his head to the side with an inquisitive look on his face.  
"Uh, yeah. Yeah, sort of. Definitely not from this country. Just, promise me something?"  
"Of course." The speed of Cas' response to Dean's request for fidelity made the hunter shift a bit uneasily for some reason.  
"Don't," Dean paused. Don't what? Don't lie to me like that again? Don't leave me and Sam to clear up your mess? The Winchester sighed, "Don't smite anyone." He muttered in a resigned tone.  
Castiel nodded, looking bemused. "Dean," he said, looking cautiously at the blue box. "That box, it doesn't feel... right." The wavelengths coming from it were unlike anything Cas had ever experienced. It was indescribable, impossible, something so small shouldn't be able to produce so much energy. His friend smiled, there was something odd about that too, more of a grimace than Dean's usual (if somewhat rare) smile.  
"Let's just go inside."  
"Dean, I really don't think four people can fit inside there..." But Dean had already disappeared inside. Castiel quelled his doubts, after all, it seemed that trusting Dean always led to a much better outcome than when Castiel tried to take care of things on his own.  
The first thing Castiel registered after stepping into the box was a bright green light in his face, accompanied by a high pitched whirring and peculiar ripples of  
energy cascading over his entire body.  
"Doc, what the hell are you doing?" Came Dean's voice, it seemed, to Cas, further away than was possible in the confined space. The green light vanished, and the man wielding it became clear. His brow was furrowed as he stared intently at the copper tube in his hand, turning it over and over as he examined it.  
"Nope, Pond, it's okay, he's not one of them!" The man called over his shoulder. "Sorry," he said, turning back to face Castiel, "just making sure you're not a homicidal statue."  
"I don't understand..." He wasn't just talking about the strange man. Now that Cas could see properly, he realised the interior of the small blue box. Only it wasn't a small blue box. It was cavernous, bigger than Bobby's house and panic room put together.  
"Nobody does," Sam smiled sympathetically, crossing from a large table-like thing in the middle of the room. "Uh, Castiel, this is John, Sherlock, Rory, Amy and the Doctor." He gestured at each person in turn.  
"Sam, I don't understand, this box it's-" Castiel turned in a slow circle, his eyes taking in the TARDIS.  
"Bigger on the inside, yeah." The one with the large nose- Rory, finished Cas' sentence for him. "Don't worry, you get used to it."  
"Dean," This was getting too much, "we need to talk about what is out there."  
"Couldn't agree more!" The odd man with the green light chirped, spinning around with his arms in the air. He skipped over from the console to Castiel, massively  
breaching the Angel's personal space and taking the phrase "nose to nose" to a whole new level. "So, you, what do you know?"  
"Uh... uh, not a lot. There's something not right here, it's not leaving a lot of clues, though. Just... things aren't right." Castiel's replied, frustrated.  
"Hm. You know about as much as I do. Well that's useless, you're useless. Dean, Sam got anything for me?" As quickly as The Doctor had approached Castiel he left him standing, bewildered by the console and approached the two hunters.  
"Got anything for you?" The question had inexplicably pissed Dean off again. "Isn't that what we're in here for? So that you can track down this fucking wraith and have done with it?"  
"Well," the Doctor looked slightly stroppy. "You're no help either. Did anyone find anything interesting?" The Doctor's exasperated tone did nothing to help with Dean's angry disposition.  
"Um..." Rory began, somewhat dubiously, "a body."  
"A body?" The Winchesters spoke in unison, taking everyone by surprise.  
"No, no, no." The Doctor dismissed Rory's point with a flap of his hand. "I'm not looking for a body in a graveyard, there's lots of those. I'm looking for a thing."  
"A thing." Sam repeated incredulously.  
"Yes, yes, a thing-like thing. It was a very, uh," he searched for the word, "thingy thing."  
"Glad we've cleared that up" John muttered to Amy, who smiled. 'You get used to it,' she mouthed back.  
"Ugh." The Doctor let out a yell of frustration. "Humans! You're so useless!" His outburst earned him an eyeroll from Amy and a smirk from Sherlock.  
"Doctor, you haven't actually told us what you want us to look for," Amy pointed out. "All we know is that it's a thing, and it's bad."  
"Okay. Okay, uh, uh, people have been going missing." The sentence came out disjointed, as the Timelord searched for the right words. "Only, they're not missing. They're ending up in well, they're ending up all over the place. The past, the future, different planets, different galaxies."  
"Yes!" Castiel's outburst drew everyone's attention, making him feel slightly sheepish, "I... uh... some of the angels have been reporting that the humans in their  
charge are vanishing."  
"Could it be the weeping angels?" Rory asked from the other side of the TARDIS, his words eliciting a strange tilt of Castiel's head.  
"I did think that, but no, sending people into the past, yes, we know that angels can do that, but it takes enormous amounts of energy to send something ahead of time, let alone across the universe. They'd starve themselves doing so." The Doctor's hands flapped wildly in front of him as he dismissed the idea as impossible.  
"So we don't know what we're looking for?" The Doctor looked at Amelia with solemn eyes and shook his head.  
"Whatever it was... it was here, recently. That's when I met Dean and Sam, the Thing was chasing me."  
"And what, it just so happened that all three of you failed to see it?" Sherlock lowered his hands, that had been steepled against his lips, and frowned haughtily at the Doctor and the Winchesters from his precarious perch on the TARDIS railings.  
"We were a bit preoccupied, what with running away from the fucking thing." Dean really was in a foul mood, and the tall, thin man with the superior expression on  
his fox-like face was really beginning to get under his skin.  
"Doctor, I don't understand..." Sam, like everyone else, just ignored Dean, "if this is a time machine, why don't you just go back and rescue everyone?"  
"There's too much chance of crossing my own time stream. Besides, it's better to leave them there for now, we don't know what moving them back might do..." The Timelord's voice trailed off and he looked around. "Where's Sherlock?"  
"Here," the Detective appeared, inexplicably, from underneath the console. Rory started a little, put off by how seamlessly Sherlock had moved across the TARDIS, without detection, and ended up right by his feet.  
"Uh, what are you doing?" John asked, concerned and all too aware of what happened when Sherlock was let loose near any kind of technology.  
"Thinking." Sherlock clipped.  
"Thinking." The Doctor repeated, frowning at Sherlock. Like John, he was apprehensive about Sherlock's proximity to the console. But unlike John, the Doctor hadn't much of a clue as to how to deal with Sherlock, and was completely lost when John let out a tired sigh and asked,  
"In your mind palace?"  
"Mind palace?" Dean scoffed at John, "is that British for brain? Or is it all you, Fancypants?"  
Sherlock regarded the hunter cooly. "Fancypants. Well, Dean, top marks for originality, but typically, dully wrong. I was in fact wondering, firstly, the exact nature of your relationship with Castiel. The unhealthy relationship you share with your brother is one thing, but this... this reeks of late night encounters." Dean face flushed a decidedly red colour as he pressed his lips into a thin line, and moved his hand to his gun. Only Sam's hand on his arm stopped him from an outburst, and possibly a shooting. But Sherlock's gaze already turned towards the Doctor, completely oblivious to Dean's anger. "Secondly, Doctor, going off of face value appearance I'd estimate your age at somewhere in your late twenties. But then your eyes. No, you're old, impossibly old, and you've seen things, wars and deaths and violence on all accounts. You've seen so much of it, you've become desensitised, but not enough that you've become entirely numb. And finally... Rory. Has anyone else noticed that he's been sweating? No? The temperature in here's mild, cool even, yet there's Rory, looking like he's in a sauna. Can't be a fever, we've been with him all evening and he's not so much as coughed. so what is it? Something happened, didn't it? In the graveyard, something must have happened but what?"  
"The Wraith." Sam muttered. Despite his quiet tone, his voice rang clear throughout the TARDIS. Sherlock really knew how to silence a room.  
"Rory?" Amy's voice was worried. "Rory, are you okay?"  
"I-I'm fine." He replied, voice sounding equally as worried.  
"No you're not, look at you. Pupils dilated, sweating and hallucinating."  
"Sherlock, how could you possibly know if he's hallucinating?" John challenged.  
"Look at him, really look, every few seconds he squeeze his eyes shut and digs his nails into his palms. He's anchoring himself to reality, but it's getting less and less effective."  
"But," Sam glanced at Dean, confused. "Wraith poison doesn't act that fast."  
"Well apparently it does." Sherlock snapped. "What's the cure?"  
"Gank the Wraith." Dean said.  
"Right. Let's do that then." John said, Sam nodding in agreement. "Doctor, can you do that thing with the scanner again?"  
"Uh," the Time Lord was obviously conflicted. He glanced towards Amy and Rory, clinging on to each other's hands. "Yes. Yes of course." He skipped over to the main console, twiddling with this and pulling that, and muttering something about calibration that nobody, save Sherlock, could understand. "Amy," he said, voice calm, "take Rory to the library. Somewhere a bit less stimulating. Might help."  
"Won't."  
Dean, Sam, John and Amy all spoke at the same time. "Shut up, Sherlock."

* * *

"Rory." Amy sat next to her husband on the floor of the vast library. "Rory, stay with me, come on."  
"I'm fine." He muttered through gritted teeth, clutching at his head. "Fine."  
"Good. But you won't be that way for long." Amy grinned. She stood up, chuckled, and kicked Rory in the gut. He didn't know what hit him, the air vanished from his lungs and he fell to his side, coughing.  
"Nice kick, Pond!" The Doctor commended, appearing from behind a bookcase. He joined Amy, wrapping his arms around her waist. She smiled up at him, standing on her tiptoes, and bringing her mouth to his. The Doctor reacted instantly, holding her cheek in his hand and kissing back feverishly.  
"No..." Rory gasped. "No!"

* * *

"Amy," the Doctor looked grim, speaking into the mouthpiece of the phone. "Amy, how is he?"  
"Doctor..." His insides went cold at the sound of her sobbing.  
"It's okay, Pond. He'll be okay, you have to trust me."  
Sam watched the Doctor as he leant his head against a television screen, attached to the long column that ran through the centre of the console, and whispered down the phone to Amy. He noticed Dean staring at the Time Lord too, and knew they were both thinking of the same thing. Of Jo, holding in her guts as they hunted down the Devil and got nowhere for it. To the brothers, the Doctor was synonymous with Bobby at that time, trying to help as best as he could from afar.  
"Cas," Dean laid a hand on Castiel's shoulder, his tone solemn. "Can you do anything?"  
The Angel seemed confused by the request. "No..." his tone distracted. "I-I have to get back to my garrison. I need to find out what's going on." And with that, he was gone, leaving Dean's hand hanging in the air.  
"Well he's about as useful as an empty tank of gas." Dean muttered, inwardly cursing the angel and hoping he could hear it. "Hey, uh, Doc?" Watson and the Doctor both looked up. "Alien Doc." Dean clarified. "We're gonna head out now, okay? Tell Amy to sit tight."  
"Dean," he was stopped by John. "We'll come with. Can't hurt, having a couple of extra pairs of hands, right?" There was a moment of tense hesitation between the two, as Dean weighed up his trust of Sherlock with a gun against Amy and Rory's need. "All right." He concluded, leading the way out of the TARDIS, and leaving the main console room empty, save for the Doctor, still on the phone, consoling Amy as Rory's sanity deteriorated before her eyes.


	5. The Council

A flash of movement caught Dean's eye. "Sammy," he hissed, drawing his brother's attention. Sam raised his eyebrow in question, then lifted his gun as Dean gestured to a gravestone behind which the figure had flitted. The brothers walked slowly in that direction, moving along a paralell, avoiding gravestones and twisted roots which rose from the ground to pull at their ankles.

* * *

"Rory? Rory it's me, it's Amy, come on, stay with me, Sam and Dean are fixing it, just... just hold on a little longer. Please." Even among the fearsome hallucinations, the grating voices that tore at his sanity, Rory could hear the frantic desperation in Amy's voice. Her fiery red hear swam into view, and then her face. His beautiful Amy's face, drained of colour and scarred by tears.  
"A-Amy." The once-brave centurion reached out towards her, and she clung to his hand for dear life. He stared at her, how could he ever have believed that she'd hurt him in those ways? But then... then he realised. He realised as her flesh melted away, her lips stretched and tore, her eyes bulged from their raw, over exposed sockets. He yanked his hand away, recoiling against the wall of books which lined the room. The fiery copper hair of his wife blazed in the darkness as her rotting head titled back, releasing a low guttural scream.

* * *

There was a high-pitched bleep from the TARDIS console. The Doctor looked up, his eyes bright. To a stranger, the circular patterns on the screen could be doodles, but to the Time Lord, it read: '_Rory Williams. Mental State: Risk of PERMANENT damage_'. The ancient man pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily. "Sherlock," he said, hitting a button on the console that connected him to the detective's walkie-talkie. "Holmes, are you there?" There was a crackle of static and then,  
"Yep, well, sort of," John answered in lieu of Sherlock, "we're at the spot where Rory touched the Wraith." There was a brief pause, "how's he doing?"  
"Not good. I- I don't understand. I mean, I've _never_ seen anything like this in all my years, and I've seen a lot." The Doctor let out a sound of frustration. He never thought himself ignorant of the fact that the universe was always expanding, always changing, but at this moment, he could do little more than loathe the stupid, naïve part of him that assumed all the changes were good. Had he not lost and broken enough people already?  
"Well, for what it's worth," John's voice came through the Time Lord's fingers, clenched tightly around the communicator, bringing him back to the awful present, "neither have we. Thank God for the Winchester's, eh?"

* * *

There was a rustle of movement behind the gravestone, and a very distinctive whimper. Sam hesitated, frowning at Dean, who had nothing more to offer to the situation than a shrug of the shoulders. As Sam approached, there was another whimper, louder and more desperate this time. Deciding it was most likely a trick, he whipped round the side of the headstone, aiming his gun at the elderly man, who shrunk away from Sam, sobbing pitifully into his hands. The Hunter faltered.  
"I'm sorry!" The man yelped, "p-please don't shoot. I-I only came here t-to visit Ethel. I-I-" he descended into a fit of panicked sobs. Something didn't quite add up, a d though he wasn't sure what that something was yet, Sam decided against lowering his gun.  
"Who's Ethel?" he snapped.  
"M-my wife. She died last summer and-"  
"And what? You decide to visit your dead wife at midnight?"  
"It was her f-favourite time of night, s-she loved the s-stars. Please, I have money, I w-won't go to the police. I just want to go home." He managed not to dissolve into incoherency again but fat tears rolled down his face and dripped off his chin. It was then that Sam really took in his appearance. Short, balding, kindly face, smart shoes and brown cords, a diamond-checked pullover that hugged close to his pot-belly. Wedding ring still on his left hand. The gun pointed at him lowered, but as it did so, the shiny metal surface caught the moonlight and the decaying reflection of the elderly man. Sam snapped the gun back to his target.  
"Damn. I was so close." The Wraith lamented, knowing there was no way out now. "Had you going though, didn't I? Especially when we first met here. Want to know how I did it?"  
"No." Sam's face was utterly expressionless as he squeezed the trigger and sent a silver bullet hurtling through the Wraith's skull.  
"Nice shot, Sammy." Dean applauded, appearing from behind the gravestone.  
"Yeah, thanks for all your help."  
Dean ignored Sam's sarcasm and nudged the Wraith with his foot. "Stupid bastard. Loved to talk about himself too much." Sam made a noise of agreement, and opened his mouth with the intent of suggesting that they head back to the TARDIS when the brothers were doused in a pale yellow light.

* * *

Dean woke with a start. He'd had the weirdest dream. He and Sammy had been hunting a Wraith when they'd met a completely insane, British alien and ended up in England where-  
"Ah good, you're awake." The voice brought Dean back to the present. It wasn't a voice he recognised, it was high-pitched, echoey, pronounced 'good' as 'gurd'. Instinctively, the Winchester reached under his pillow for his gun, but there was no pillow to reach under. His senses sprung to high alert, as he whipped out of bed, facing the thing with the ethereal voice.  
"Who the fuck are you?"  
"Be calm, Dean Winchester. You are safe." And he was. He knew that, it was inexplicable, but a feeling washed over Dean of complete bliss. Even if he tried, he couldn't worry about where he was, about who or what the strange creature facing him was, he couldn't even care about the apocalypse.  
"Where am I?" He whispered, looking around the room. To say it was minimalist would be an understatement. There was nothing, save for the bed he'd been asleep on. The walls were panelled, all glossy white and divided into squares and Dean got that impression that if you pressed one of the squares it'd spring open, revealing a hidden cupboard.  
"A medical facility. Our examinations showed that you were suffering from severe sleep deprivation. We felt it necessary to take care of you before approaching you with our request."  
"Request?" Dean felt more than slightly dazed; whatever he'd be dosed with was stronger than anything he'd ever smoked.  
"You can go now, if you wish, I can discharge you after a final exam."  
"Final exam..." things were getting hazier, he hadn't even begun to try and decipher what he was facing.  
"Oh, my apologies," Dean blinked and was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of clarity. "Better?"  
"Uh, yeah, better." The haziness had disappeared and realisation struck. The creature in front of Dean was slender; it had a willowy humanoid figure, with no distinguishing features to indicate if it was male or female. There was a moment where Dean wondered if the alien he was looking at even had a gender. Its skin was a pale, pearlescent green colour, and seemed to ripple when it moved. Its hair- was it hair? Cascaded in long wispy strands, that looked more like grass than anything else. Its eyes were wide, not overly so, and bright blue, "What are you? What planet is this?" Dean paused, realising he'd yet to ask the most important question. "Where the fuck is my brother?"  
"You shall see Samuel, shortly. My name is Maressi. I am a physician, of the species Taureyan, from the planet Anchrae. Please, remain calm, Mr. Winchester." It happened again, the Hunter's anger dissipated completely, and though he wanted to yell at the Taureyan to stop messing with his head, he couldn't get the thoughts to leave his brain and pass his lips. "If you would stand here, please." It indicated for him to stand in front one of the smooth cabinets. He may have been completely incapable of punching the Alien, but Dean could at least stubbornly plant himself back on the bed and raise his eyebrow in challenge. "Very well," Maressi's long fingers slipped into what seemed like a pocket of its skin, from which it withdrew a thin white remote. It pressed a button, and the bed slid across the floor to the spot the Alien had previously indicated. "If you would sit still, Dean." It didn't seem like much of a request when Dean realised he couldn't actually move. A mild current passed over him, raising the hairs on his arms, and Maressi bid him to leave.  
"Where?"  
"Follow the line." As the words passed Maressi's lips, a dark blue line appeared on the floor at Dean's feet, coaxing him out of the room, along an equally clean, glossy white corridor and outside.  
The planet was beautiful. The sky was a pale pink, and littered with fluffy white clouds. The sun, no, suns, there were two of them, one small and orange, the other large and burning white hot as it set beyond purple mountains capped with dark grey snow. "Trippy," Dean muttered, glancing away from his blue line at the clouds, edged with day-glo orange from the setting sun. The blue line took a sharp turn left, and Dean followed, approaching the mountains, vast and rolling, with deep valleys and fissures. The near-black snow covered only one face of each peak, and the hunter couldn't help feel slightly frustrated as he realised he had no idea which way was north, he couldn't tell the direction of the wind that blew the snow across the mountains, he couldn't tell where this blue line was taking him. He couldn't even tell where he was in the universe. "Doc, could really do with some help." He whispered, as the line took him through a steep valley.

The chasm opened out into a large clearing, edged by the odd, violet mountains. In the centre of the clearing was a large, round table, made out of red glass, with accompanying red chairs that glittered in the sunlight. On the chairs sat more Taureyans, ten of them, three of which were identical to Maressi.

"Welcome, Dean Winchester." An alien with white, wrinkled skin stood to greet him. Its skin was less fluid that Maressi's, and it's hair was next to non-existent.

"Uh,"

"I am Nutharis, High Elder of the Taureyan council. Please, take a seat." Again, a feeling of compliancy washed over Dean and he did as was instructed. "We have need of your help, Dean."

"My help?" That was certainly unexpected; Dean was expecting torture, or execution. At the very least, he was expecting to be probed.

"We have come to understand that you, and your brother, are formidable hunters. Though, we, that is the Taureyan race, not just our council, would rather not have to resort to asking of your services, we have reached a situation where it is no longer possible to go without."

"Our… services?" He was becoming dazed again.

"Junis, if you would please desist. I'm sure that Dean here will be reasonable," a golden-skinned alien nodded, and Dean's thoughts and rationale became his own again.

"What is that? Why does that keep happening?"

"It has occurred before?"

"In that healing place. That blue bitch Maressi kept pulling it on me."

Nutharis waved away Dean's snipe at Maressi, with a flick of his long fingered hand. "Maressi and Junis are healers. It is a profession in which some Taureyans are born into. With that birth comes certain privileges, for Maressi and Junis that involves ability to influence a person's moods, though only for a short while. It is nothing sinister, I assure you."

"Seems pretty sinister to me. What do you want _us_ for?" The stress Dean put on the 'us' only emphasised Sam's absence.

"We believe you are familiar with The Beast?"

"No."

"Ah. You may not realise what it was you were running from in that cemetery."

"You want us to kill _that_?"

"Not kill. Capture. Murdering it would be abhorrent, don't you agree?" Dean did not agree. "No, The Beast is- was a captive of ours, we don't know much of its origin, but it had travelled to, and attacked our planet. We could not allow that to continue, so we kept it in a secure facility, but it escaped. We fear it may harm other planets, as it did ours."

Dean licked his lips and rested his hands, clasped together, in front of him on the table. "Let me get this straight, you let that thing escape, and now you want us to go gung-ho and stick it in a box for you to let it break out again?"

"Our facility has been... refined, such an occurrence need never happen again."

"And if we don't?"

"The decimation of the universe will ensue."

Dean scoffed. "Well, Sammy and I already got you beat on that one. We started the apocalypse, can't get more end of the universe than that."

"Your Judeo-Christian apocalypse need not reach further than your planet. The Beast will eliminate all things, past, present and future. We beseech of you, Hunter."

"We die either way. Why should we help some no-good aliens that like to abduct people from graveyards?" The anger in Dean's voice sparked Junis into action again, and the Winchester slid from his seat to the ground with a peaceful smile on his face.

"Junis. Please." Nutharis scolded. Junis bowed his head, and released Dean from his control, who immediately jumped up in anger.

"God, would you stop fucking doing that!"

"Dean," a feminine voice pleaded. His eyes searched those at the table and found it, an alien with skin the colours of the sunset, long midnight blue hair with the texture of cotton candy. "We have space here to home the entire human race, they won't have to die. You and Samuel could have normal lives. We wouldn't ask this of you if it weren't necessary, if there were some other way..."

"You haven't even told me what this Beast is, yet." Dean pointed out. This new alien had found a way to get under his skin, making promises of a life where he wasn't so tired, where there were no demons, or wraiths, or witches. It was tempting, but then again, it could have been another "ability" afforded to the Alien, the ability to cause Dean to lose his objectivity. Because, deep down, he knew that he and Sammy were cursed, that no matter where they were, there would be evil, in one form or another. They would always be hunters, because there would always be things to hunt. They could be never be normal.


End file.
